


Poppa Pennywise

by The_Torturer_Writes



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Graphic Description, Its Pennywise..., Murder, Other, Oviposition, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24149128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Torturer_Writes/pseuds/The_Torturer_Writes
Summary: From this ask: Can I request Pennywise and oviposition please 🥺🥺 lots of cum, stretching, or biting?? Bloodplay is 😍😍 anything that'll make it fun for you!! Thank you 🤡🤡🤡❤❤❤❤❤❤
Relationships: Pennywise (IT) & Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21
Collections: Torturer Tuesdays





	Poppa Pennywise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gnashing_teeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnashing_teeth/gifts).



> I don’t know if this will be shocking, but I don’t identify much with a victim. I identify with the bad guy. So, as much as I tried it the other way, this did not go in the direction I thought it would, and it strayed from this ask.

Her screams echoed in spirals through the sewer maze, high in pitch just the way you liked. She wouldn’t be as sweet as the idiot children.  _ Too old. Stupid, stupid cow. _ But it was necessary for the task.  _ No matter. _ Her flesh would still taste of fear and adrenaline, aged like wine.

She hung from the wall, anchored in place by the sticky web at her neck, wrists, and ankles. You’d learned that the most likely places to beget your spawn were thicker and warmer than the skinny, gangly ends. You would need every gory pocket you could find and create. You picked her because she wasn’t licorice thin and wobbly. You needed sturdy.  _ Sturdy’s good, yes. _

It had been a millennium since you'd last laid eggs, and your body was bloated with the burden, aching and sore.

She shrieked, demanding your name, your intent, as though you would bow to such a worthless creature. They were honeyed scraps, little more. They were specks of nothing in the face of your eternity. 

“Need a body, need a body.”

On a sing-song voice, you danced nearer, lifting and waving your hands so she could watch the curved, discolored claws rip through the satiny, white gloves. Leaning in, you sniffed at her, drawing in the delicious fear.  _ Good good good. Nice and plump dread. Tasty. _

You tore at the pastel fabric she wore, hands rough and impatient, shredding it to ribbons. A hungry growl bubbled up, the smell of her enticing your mouth to water and froth. During the breeding cycle, your senses heightened, and you could feel the blood rushing through her veins, the terror weeping out of every pore. Nuzzling your face into the soft underarm, you drew in a lengthy breath and matched it with a low groan. 

She would do nicely.  _ Yes, nicely. _

With one hand, you kneaded and pinched the soft underskin of her arm, tugging the muscle down. The other, pointed on that razor-sharp talon, sliced through the skin, carving muscle away from bone. The scream that tore from her lips sent fire along your spine, a delicious shudder working its way up. 

_ Delightful. Do it again, make it scream again. _

Dipping your head, you caught her sanguine snowflakes on your tongue, and hummed at the rich taste. In your current state, driven by this base need to reproduce, it was almost more than you could bear to not sink your teeth into her body. 

_ So close; right there, just a nip. _

_ No! Concentrate. Fix it. Finish. _

Using your thumb to hold open the wound, your sinewy, spindly leg unfurled from inside the silken disguise, lining up and plunging into the red meat. You tipped your head back on a pleased hiss, the hot, sticky pocket against the sensitive, innervated nub jolting delight through your body.  _ Yes, good. Good, yes. _

Her tantalizing screams quickly dissolved into wretched pleas, hiccups of begging. Tucking up against the bone, you pushed the bundle of eggs through the thin column, gasping at the sensation, and packaged them between the solid structure and the supple support.

_ Close it up tight! _

Fibrous sutures dotted the wound, encased with a fresh layer of webbing from shoulder to elbow. Your host hung pitifully, abandoning her screams momentarily. You set similar pouches at the opposite arm and into both thighs, licking up the tasty lubrication at each opening.

You shook, wholly awash in gruesome, erotic need, each dispensing of your young tingling and sizzling. You clutched at her belly, claws digging into the soft flesh, and slumped into the wall.  _ Soft dumpling, sweet cake. Just a taste. _

You howled in abject need; the exertion of this burgeoning force was almost too much.

Finally understanding what was happening to her, your host quaked, angry tears rolled down her ruddy cheeks. Resolved to her fate, she closed her eyes and slipped into anxious prayer. 

_ Finish. Lickety split. Do it. 1-2-3. _

On another day, you might have berated her for the futility of it all, but your lips burned, your head throbbed, and you were lost to depraved craving, caught between the demanding need to feed and the interminable compulsion to breed. 

_ Nononono. STUPID, DOUGHY COW. _

Impatient, chased into urgency by the sudden leakage of lost offspring, you clutched at both soft thighs, wrenching them apart to force your appendage into the hot, tight cavern. Your eyes rolled back into your head when the walls clenched as you made her womb ready, shedding cells and blood at the invasion. 

_ Too good. Too sweet. Just a bit, bit, bite. Just a bite! _

Unable to withstand the call any longer, you sunk the rows of your teeth into her shoulder, rocking and jerking your body into hers and slurping down her sweet blood until she was filled with your young, packed in and patched up tight.

You hunched over, exhaustion curving your body into the damp asphalt. Your breathing was choppy, stunted by the grit of your pointed teeth. Your every particle ached from the effort it took to maintain this form. Shifting to anything else, to your true shape, would abandon this host to nothing more than a meal, and it would be another millennium before you again had this chance.

Pushing off the slimy slab, you crawled up the wall, tearing chunks from the concrete to make your perch.  _ Tasty treat. Taste it, rare cow, cured meat.  _ Capturing her weeping face, you prodded her mouth open wider, purring delightedly at the candied smell of her saliva. You flicked your viper tongue along her teeth and tongue, humming at the taste. 

She jerked and struggled, enraged and launched into a renewed will to fight by the absolute understanding she would not survive this encounter, but you plunged the whole of your tongue down her throat, sliding through the esophagus to splash into stomach acid. Your sticky spit countered the destructive digestive juices, making the environment hospitable.

You replaced your wicked tongue with the pregnant tube and groaned obscenely loud as it slid into the warm sack. You lingered, the velvety feel of constricting throat and smooth organ coaxing pleasure from your heavy body.

_ Yes, done. Almost done.  _

Lining the sleek cavity with silk, you pumped it full of eggs and loaded her neck and mouth with the sinewy fiber. Staggering back, you roared, decorated with every possible fluid she could leak and saddled with this insatiable appetite. You would gorge on the blood of this town, drowning the streets with bodies and bones.

_ I'll kill you all! I'm every nightmare you've ever had! Coming for you; yes! _

Spent of ready eggs, you launched from one form to another; seven more limbs, accompanied by grisly pincers, burst through alabaster skin. Tearing your host from the wall, you rolled her between your legs and body, your spinnerette encasing her in the strong wrapping until she was a human-sized pill, swaying from one of the large sewer pipes.

_ Eater of worlds, nightmare nightmare. Slaughterer of souls. Soon, I will be legion. _


End file.
